And I Love Him
by Inari Kasugawa
Summary: "I am in love with him, and I am too afraid to tell him." A lot of stuff goes on in Sweden's head. A sequel to "Love Me, Dead", this time from Sweden's side. Violent themes and gore, character death, sex, possible mention of rape I don't quite remember. Mature audiences only.


I never get tired of watching him in Denmark's house. The time that I have to myself is infrequent at best, Denmark likes to keep me busy, hoping that at the end of the day I will simply be too tired to cause any kind of trouble or to try and break away. But I know that I cannot, we are all bound to each other at this point, and if I left I would be leaving Finland behind. And that, to me, would be inexcusable.

I am in love with him, and I am too afraid to tell him. Denmark finds out first, and when he tells me he won't allow other unions to come about between anyone in his house, I find myself ignoring him as I have always endeavored to. He is loud and obnoxious and bossy, and entirely ignorant to the feelings that I've been keeping to myself for years. He wouldn't take them out on Finland, he knows that the boy stays here only barely, only because it would be more trouble to be entirely on his own, not like Norway or Iceland who cannot sustain themselves and have always belonged to Denmark. Finland stays for his convenience. I stay because I have lost too many battles to conceivably survive on my own.

Neither of us talks and the most actual interaction comes at dinner, when Norway serves the food that Denmark likes the best, and serves Denmark the best of it. I see the look that Finland gives to them, a wary look that betrays the many thoughts and plots running through his mind. I can see him take in how much more Norway gives to Denmark than to anyone, and perhaps I catch a small glimpse of resentment for it, but it passes and he laughs and he tells us a story about a moomin and a moose and everyone laughs, especially Denmark, who has no such creatures to compare to.

He does not lay a hand on me until the first time Finland tries to run away. The blow is hard and solid as a rock when his fist connects with my jaw, and I almost retaliate; almost stagger back and wrap my hands around Denmark's throat and squeeze until he cannot control me anymore, but Finland comes in, followed quickly by Norway who has the brat Iceland attached to his shirt hem like a burr. I turn on my heel and step outside, hoping to put a few handfuls of ice against my cheek to numb the worst of it, and I can already feel the bruise beginning to bloom across my face, the steely taste of blood on my tongue from where my teeth broke the skin of my cheek.

I've hardly taken a seat on the wood block before a bit of cloth wrapped around snow is handed to me, Finland's worried face on the offering side. "You shouldn't fight him, Siev. He's much stronger than us, and you are barely recovered." To my credit I am able to hear the words he says, though I don't pay them much mind, just grunting in assent when he's finished speaking. I am already thinking of ways to beat Denmark and get away from this house. And my plans for escape begin to encompass Finland, and what I would have to do to take him with me when I left.

It isn't until the night after another civil uprising in the large town Stockholm that I realize what a bad situation I find myself in. Denmark's own forces at the coast marched in at a matter of hours, putting half the town to the sword and imprisoning a good many more for the unrest. Before I had even a moment to feel proud that my people were still fighting, I felt a thick rope wind around my throat, and even though I struggled, consciousness was soon as lost to me as air.

When I came to I was in Denmark's room. I tried to sit up, not bothered by the location so much as that when I tried to lift my hand, I found it was bound above my head, as were my legs. I shouted out angrily, tried to pull the headboard loose and break something with it, but the solid oak refused to give way. When the door opened I froze just a moment. In the doorway stood Denmark, Norway shadowing him, Iceland nowhere to be seen, and most likely put to bed. The most disturbing thing was that Denmark seemed happy to see me, or perhaps to see me awake.

I felt a painful throb at my throat where the rope had constricted. "L't me go." My voice felt tight and broken, and speaking hurt. Where Denmark just chuckled, Norway's face held the apprehension of a hunted animal, like he knew something was about to happen. Denmark walked up to the side of the bed and very suddenly clamped his hands over my mouth and nose. "You really aughtta stop causing me so much trouble Sweden, it's gonna get really bad for you real fast this way otherwise." Then he took his hands away and I took a deep breath. No sooner than I had that Denmark shoved a wad of cloth into my mouth, tying a gag tight over it before I could spit it out.

I had to breathe slowly through my nose to keep from choking, tears pricking the corners of my eye from the discomfort. My glasses had become skewed in the brief unevenly ended struggle and he removed them. This was when I truly began to panic. Without my glasses I was very nearly blind. Years of sun reflecting off of snow and blows enough to the head in fights had damaged my eyesight irreparably, and the refracting lenses were the best that could be done. Without them my vision became blurry, as though looking through murky water.

I couldn't see the look on Denmark's face anymore but I could hear his laugh when he called for Norway to hand him his knife. I couldn't seen the change of expression on Norway's face but I could make out a slight hesitation in his movements, as though he did not know exactly to what end Denmark meant to use the sharp blade. "You don't really need those eyes of yours, do you Siev? I've tried on these stupid glasses you wear and you're blind as a whelped pup." I could hear the sound of them being tossed across the room, the tinkling of the glass skittering across the hard floor but not breaking.

The cold breadth of the blade being pressed against my cheekbone brought my attention back to him. "But what good is it if ya can't even do work around _my _house?" I fought the urge to struggle, wanting to spit the gag in his face and tell him exactly what kind of work I would like to do around his house, starting with burning it down and ending with him being hung. "Naw, can't be doing that huh?" I could barely get enough air, and the constant blur of my vision grew only dimmer.

The first bite of metal into my skin caused me to take a sharp breath of air and jerk away from the pain, growing in intensity along my left side where cloth and skin tore. He proceeded to cut away sections of clothing so that he could better see the damage he did, and all I could do was groan from the pain and hope to black out soon. "Look at that, Siev; you can't do a thing to stop me." He called Norway over to take the knife and something else, but I couldn't hear over the thrum of my heartbeat and the harsh breaths I struggled to take.

Cool but rough cloth was pressed against my injuries, cleaning them only superficially. They still bleed freely and the pain brought an itch. He took up the knife once more and before I knew what more he might have planned to do, he plunged it between my ribs and the right side of my chest blossomed with pain; pain that, mercifully, took me into the darkness of unconsciousness.

The morning came to me suddenly and I tried not to move, fearful of the pain it would surely incur, wondering as to why I was not dead of it. I had acquired many wounds in my time but never any in the manner as I had that last night.

My mouth free from the gag, I gulped down large breaths of air, my wrists burned from pulling, my side scared but healed, my chest aching but everything still working. I wondered for a moment if this wasn't his goal, to push me as near to death as he dared as a punishment for refusing to be totally cowed by him. I was reluctant to move but I had work that needed to be done. I reached to my side and found my glasses where I normally had them, a flare of rage licking at my heart as I realized that there was no place in this house that was my own.

I dressed in silence, left my room in silence, and in silence began to go about my day. I went outside to find that the weather had changed quite suddenly, the sun no longer cold in the sky but enough that Finland was doing the wash out doors, the snow melting into the ground. From a distance I watched him as, on the other side of the yard, he worked his fingers raw against the washboard and from that distance even I was able to see the reddish-brown on the white sheet he had soaking by his side.

My stomach turned and I hoped that he did not know where the blood had come from, watched as his face blanched when he turned to take a bloodied item from the water. I felt anger again rise up inside me but aimed it all at the wood on the chopping block, wanting to both show Denmark that last night had not inhibited me in the least and finish my chores in time to sit beside Finland in the foyer by the fire after dinner. They day was growing colder and I felt bad that the wash that Finland put so much time into would probably have to be brought to dry inside.

There was no disturbance that night, nor the night after that, and aside from dinner, I did not see or hear Denmark in the house at all. He laughed like nothing had happened, like everyone was happy to be where they were at the moment, and Finland told jokes like he hadn't been washing stubborn blood from the sheets. I stood abruptly and excused myself, Denmark giving me a dangerous look as I left the room before turning back to the others. I knew immediately that I had made a huge mistake.

I knew that Denmark would not lay a hand on Finland, precarious as he found the boy's condition to be. Finland has not tried to run away since Denmark hit me, and I wonder if he does not resent me for that. Where once he had been happy to talk (albeit nervously and with copious amounts of surprised stuttering) he now looked at me warily, considering and, I thought, a bit condescendingly, as if he would have tried running away again if only he didn't have to worry about me getting attacked by Denmark again. It is that night, after dinner has been cleared away and Denmark has returned to his room that I trap him on the couch and I steal my first kiss from him. It is quick and it is not nearly enough.

And that night, as I ready myself for sleep, the sudden constricting binds of thick rope wind around my neck and pull me into unconscious submission. I am brought to wakefulness by a slap across my face and not the first one by the burn in my cheek. Norway sits in a heavy chair that blocks the door, thought that is as much as I can make out without my glasses. I cannot ask questions for the gag already placed in my mouth, and I cannot struggle. I hate the sick nervous feeling that wells in my stomach, aided by the chill that creeps along my naked torso.

"Now, I know I don't have to tell ya twice, Siev, but that shit you're trying to pull with Fin? I see it; I see everything in my house." No doubt, I think, to the silent eyes of Norway and Iceland scuttling around, blending into the woodwork in their quiet plainness. "Everything, Siev, in this house is mine, whether I decide I want it or not." There is a visible knee jerk from Norway in the chair by the door and the turn of my head that it takes to see it brings another harsh open handed slap against my face. "And I'll make sure you and Fin understand that well." I wanted to scream as the first jab of the blade pierces my lung again, and can only grunt as the next one opens my stomach, long, agonizing lines being drawn into my flesh. My head begins to feel light very quickly tonight. It is the first night I die.

I'll learn later that I bled out there on the bed and that while Denmark did his best to clean it up, the resulting mess meant that the mattress had to be burned and a new one bought. The house has the smell of charred feathers and new goose down before evening the next day. Finland looks at me and at Denmark warily, and at Norway and Iceland with concern. While the child Iceland had never been particularly expressive, Norway it seems has set a precedent for it, showing either aloofness or anger and he will not meet my eyes.

The weather does not get cold anymore and while my chores change little they become lesser in load. Wood does not need to be chopped and snow does not need to be shoveled. A roof can only be repaired so many times and it leaves me with a lot of time, and I spend it thinking. I am much more careful in approaching Finland, and that first kiss was not the last, when I could and where I could, I cornered him, always wanting to tell him how I feel and always falling short. I have become increasingly silent, self conscious of the rasping and broken noise my voice has begun to make from being choked and strangled. He does not understand, I think, but he does not fight, and does not avoid my company.

It is the first warm day of spring that things become very bad. It would seem that all of the anger and spite that Denmark has stored over the course of the long winter has also thawed free, and he is not subtle about his next abduction. It is strange that this is how I learn that Norway has been the one to do it. Though I trouble to fathom how, it happens, and I have to try not to vomit up the dinner that we all had just eaten, though I was noticeably given less. I am not surprised when I feel the cold grip of death. But I am surprised when I wake up the next morning in a room that is not mine or Denmark's, but smells of lavender and soft skin that I have only captured the hint of in quick stolen kisses. This is the first time I am bandaged, the first time that my wounds have not healed into slight, twisted scars.

Unwinding the blood stiffened bandages is unpleasant when they stick to my skin, but nothing so much as the ache that I feel in my hips as though I've been dropped from a horse. Finland is not there and I toss the bandages onto the bed before I leave the room. There is little sign of him as I make my way to the wash closet and then to my duties around the house.

This becomes normal, and with the improving weather comes increased bought of unrest among my people, and worse among Finland's people, though he himself shows no inclination towards rebellion. He does not meet my eyes anymore as the summer month's progress. I find myself waking more frequently in Finland's bed, regrettably void of its owner. I steal the moments of washing tacky blood off my skin to think back to the smell of his room, lavender and the ferrous smell I bring, and I feel more like a criminal at the moment of release than I have accosting Finland in various corners of the house. It feels underhanded to be in the dark of the wash closet muffling desperate whispers of his name before washing the evidence off of myself along with the blood.

The morning that I wake up, turn my head and see Finland dozing on an empty swath of mattress, I almost think that this time, surely this time, I have stayed dead, and that I will not wake again. I feel battered and sore and do not want to disturb Finland, and I know he had a long night. Norway would have too. Denmark hadn't tied the bindings tight enough and by the time he came into the room, I had freed myself and had punched him in the face. He had been armed though, and so my disadvantage very quickly became apparent, and even if I had been able to bloody Denmark's lip and cut him with a knife he tried to stab me with, I was soon over powered. It had done nothing but strengthen my belief that I could not stay here, and I would not.

The morning next I woke to Finland sleeping in the bed beside me, and I nearly stayed there. The need to wash the blood from my body won out over my desire to stay beside Finland, and I carefully made my way out. I didn't see Finland again until I had need to cross the yard to the wood pile. I stopped on my way there and found myself just watching Finland as he did the wash. He did not see me and I did not draw his attention. I could hear the stomp of footsteps approaching through the drying autumn grass and Denmark was very quickly shouting at me, all forms of obscenities he knew. Some of my people had won in an uneven ended skirmish against Denmark's own. He slapped me across the face and stormed back into the house.

I did not try, at first, to erase the smile that had crept onto my face. I was winning my freedom back, and this victory, I promised myself, would only be the first of many more to come. The victory made me bold and that night the house hushed quickly. Denmark locked himself in his room, Norway for once not with him but similarly barricaded in his room with his brother. I sat drinking tea warmed from the embers left in the kitchen stove and heard Finland retreating to his room. Knocking back the rest of the tea I felt the boldness from earlier that day creep into me. If my people could be strong enough to repel Denmark, I could be strong enough to bring Finland with me.

I caught up with Finland as he opened the door to his room. "D'n't make a s'nd, 'kay?" I really hated speaking, hated having him hear the ruined voice I was left with, but he just startled so easily… Not having to fear the watchful telling eyes of Norway or his brother, I pressed my lips softly to the nape of Finland's neck, my hand reaching out to push the door open. We entered the room and I shut the door behind us.

Wrapping my arms around Finland, I was, for a moment, unable to do anything else. He leant back into me and I was nearly overwhelmed by my adoration of him, the brave one in all of this who had mended me without flinching away. "Th'nk y'." I hated the sound of my voice and decided to try to convey in other ways how I felt. With as much gentleness as I could I allowed my hands to roam beneath his nightshirt, softly brushing his warm belly and chest as I pulled the shirt up and over his head. I pressed kiss after kiss against his bare neck and shoulders and felt him ease into the touch. And then I felt his hand reach for mine as he stepped away, breaking the contact between us and led me towards his bed.

I swallowed nervously and joined him, depositing my glasses on the edge of the bed. I lent in closer to see him and felt my skin jump when he took my face in his hands and pulled me down into a kiss. Regaining myself I pressed back into the kiss, lightly sucking on his bottom lip and trying to go deeper, to mould more completely against him. Finland's leg came up as if to wrap around my hip and with an unexpected motion pulled my pants to my knees, my face flushing instantly. The remainders of our clothing were scattered and dropped to the floor without another moment of delay and Finland brought his lips again to mine. I felt him reach for my hand and he pulled away from the kiss before brining my fingers to his mouth, sucking and coating them wetly and then guiding my hand to his entrance.

I looked to him, just a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of what emotion he had on his face, if he was scared or as eager for this as I was, the dark preventing me from seeing the red on his face that the warmth he radiated told me was there. I began to press one finger against him, inside of him, and could not believe how tight and warm he was. Carefully as I knew how, I thrust the finger in and out, feeling him loosen around it before nudging the second one in to follow, pressing the walls as bid him to relax. He seized up suddenly, gasping and groaning but before I could ask if I'd hurt him, he thrust back against my fingers and I found the small bump my fingers had brushed to elicit such a response. Finland was in such a state that he did not seem to notice the third finger, only scrambled for something on the small table beside him and pulled out a small tube of ointment; the best lubrication he could provide.

Using a generous amount I slicked myself with it, moaned his name as I pressed nearer to him and aligned myself with his entrance. He was still so tight when I pressed into him but it was perfect and I moved slowly until I was as far inside him as I could go, my lips moving against his and a hand brushing through his hair gently and tried to tell him how much I loved him in my broken voice. I saw in the dim light tears streaking from his eyes and felt a tight clench of my heart. I felt him move though, and wanted to bring him as quickly to climax and for this to be as good for him as it was for me. I moved slowly, at first, moving faster as he called out for it until words had failed us both, soft gasps and moans the only language between us.

I reached in between our sweat slickened bodies and stroked him quickly, knowing myself to be near the end and wanting him to get there first. I pressed my lips to his and felt him release, his hands tangling roughly in mine as he rode through his orgasm and I came to mine, filling him with my seed and holding close to him, rocking through the powerful euphoria. When I withdrew from him it was to collapse onto the bed beside him and immediately I drew him into my arms. I could feel Finland nuzzle against me and curled into him that much more, as if I could shelter him from everything outside of this room by will alone.

We didn't say anything; not about Denmark's abuse or of Finland cleaning me up from death in that bed. I held on to him as though he was a life line, and I felt him fall asleep in my arms. Soon I too drifted off, dreaming of the life I could give him when I took our freedom from Denmark.


End file.
